thought to know of
estate management and how to invest what profits we earn. We are nearly on an
even keel now.”
Jack did not respond. He continued to look out over the
snowy fields of Idyllwild, his face pensive.
Olivia was no longer horrified by the condition in which
she’d found the Palmerton estate upon her husband’s death. Those had been dark
days, days in which she had reeled at the injustice of finding that even in
death he had shamed and humiliated her. After ten years of marriage to a man
who had cared nothing for her, to learn that her children would not inherit a
financially secure future had infuriated her. Instead the inheritance had been
gambled and whored and smoked away in every card room, brothel and opium den in
London.
Thank God Palmerton’s will had named Henry as guardian to
his heir. Henry, who’d never shown any interest or aptitude for running his own
estates had not only stepped up to the challenge of setting Palmerton’s affairs
in order, he’d also insisted Olivia participate in every decision. Together
they had waded through the mire left in the earl’s wake, selling nearly all of
the un-entailed property. Olivia had gone on to investigate various businesses
and funds in which to invest the proceeds. She was finally beginning to see
small returns on the investments Henry had made at her direction. Best of all,
she had discovered just how gratifying it was to stand on her own, to trust her
own judgment, to reap her own rewards.
“I’m sorry Palmerton left you in dire straits,” Jack finally
said. Olivia was disconcerted to see the smallest of smiles upon his lips.
“Dire straits?” she asked with a laugh. “We are hardly in
dire straits.”
“Having to put aside pennies to send Fanny to school sounds
like dire straits.”
“Oh, Jack. Not pennies. Pounds and sovereigns. I’m not
thinking of Mrs. Smith’s School for Gently Bred Ladies in Bath. Fanny will go
abroad, to Munich or Stockholm perhaps. It’s 1830 for goodness’ sake. The world
is changing for women. Did you know that in Sweden and Germany there are female
physicians? In France women are permitted to join the guild of tailors. And in
Massachusetts the trade profession is open to women. Fanny must have as good an
education as her brother, one that will provide her with real knowledge and
choices for her future.”
“Choices?” Jack asked in surprise. “She is the daughter of
an earl. She will marry well.”
“Marry well?” Olivia asked in frustration. “As I did?”
“You will choose a better man for Fanny.”
“I don’t intend to choose my daughter’s husband for her,”
Olivia replied. She could feel her face heating. Did no one understand? “Nor do
I intend to choose her path in life. It is her life and when she is a grown
woman she will choose for herself.”
“Pretty words,” he said. “I doubt you will feel the same way
if someday she comes to you and tells you she intends to marry the village
blacksmith and set up a candle-making shop in a lean-to behind the smithy.”
“A candle-making shop…” she spluttered, dropping her hand
from his arm. Her mitten fell to the ground to land in a puddle of melting
snow. “You have missed the point…missed the point entirely…a candle…oh!”
She bent and retrieved the wet mitten and shoved it at him,
hitting him squarely in the chest. She held her hand there against the sopping,
cold wool, ground her palm against his white shirt.
Jack jumped back, away from the wet mitten. Olivia followed
him, smacking him first on one arm then the other with the soggy wool. His eyes
were as wide as saucers, his mouth slack.
“Who do you think you are?” she growled. “Pretty words? From
an empty-headed pretty lady? I take my duty to my children, to both of my
children seriously! If by some absurd twist of fate Fanny should choose, after
years of study and independence and self-govern, to marry a blacksmith and
spend her days stirring vats of candle
estate management and how to invest what profits we earn. We are nearly on an
even keel now.”
Jack did not respond. He continued to look out over the
snowy fields of Idyllwild, his face pensive.
Olivia was no longer horrified by the condition in which
she’d found the Palmerton estate upon her husband’s death. Those had been dark
days, days in which she had reeled at the injustice of finding that even in
death he had shamed and humiliated her. After ten years of marriage to a man
who had cared nothing for her, to learn that her children would not inherit a
financially secure future had infuriated her. Instead the inheritance had been
gambled and whored and smoked away in every card room, brothel and opium den in
London.
Thank God Palmerton’s will had named Henry as guardian to
his heir. Henry, who’d never shown any interest or aptitude for running his own
estates had not only stepped up to the challenge of setting Palmerton’s affairs
in order, he’d also insisted Olivia participate in every decision. Together
they had waded through the mire left in the earl’s wake, selling nearly all of
the un-entailed property. Olivia had gone on to investigate various businesses
and funds in which to invest the proceeds. She was finally beginning to see
small returns on the investments Henry had made at her direction. Best of all,
she had discovered just how gratifying it was to stand on her own, to trust her
own judgment, to reap her own rewards.
“I’m sorry Palmerton left you in dire straits,” Jack finally
said. Olivia was disconcerted to see the smallest of smiles upon his lips.
“Dire straits?” she asked with a laugh. “We are hardly in
dire straits.”
“Having to put aside pennies to send Fanny to school sounds
like dire straits.”
“Oh, Jack. Not pennies. Pounds and sovereigns. I’m not
thinking of Mrs. Smith’s School for Gently Bred Ladies in Bath. Fanny will go
abroad, to Munich or Stockholm perhaps. It’s 1830 for goodness’ sake. The world
is changing for women. Did you know that in Sweden and Germany there are female
physicians? In France women are permitted to join the guild of tailors. And in
Massachusetts the trade profession is open to women. Fanny must have as good an
education as her brother, one that will provide her with real knowledge and
choices for her future.”
“Choices?” Jack asked in surprise. “She is the daughter of
an earl. She will marry well.”
“Marry well?” Olivia asked in frustration. “As I did?”
“You will choose a better man for Fanny.”
“I don’t intend to choose my daughter’s husband for her,”
Olivia replied. She could feel her face heating. Did no one understand? “Nor do
I intend to choose her path in life. It is her life and when she is a grown
woman she will choose for herself.”
“Pretty words,” he said. “I doubt you will feel the same way
if someday she comes to you and tells you she intends to marry the village
blacksmith and set up a candle-making shop in a lean-to behind the smithy.”
“A candle-making shop…” she spluttered, dropping her hand
from his arm. Her mitten fell to the ground to land in a puddle of melting
snow. “You have missed the point…missed the point entirely…a candle…oh!”
She bent and retrieved the wet mitten and shoved it at him,
hitting him squarely in the chest. She held her hand there against the sopping,
cold wool, ground her palm against his white shirt.
Jack jumped back, away from the wet mitten. Olivia followed
him, smacking him first on one arm then the other with the soggy wool. His eyes
were as wide as saucers, his mouth slack.
“Who do you think you are?” she growled. “Pretty words? From
an empty-headed pretty lady? I take my duty to my children, to both of my
children seriously! If by some absurd twist of fate Fanny should choose, after
years of study and independence and self-govern, to marry a blacksmith and
spend her days stirring vats of candle
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